Evan’s face reddened, and he balled his fists. “Lies, lies! You’re the same as the others. All of them.” He struck another flare as the first began to extinguish and pointed it at the crowd. “I loved my family and they loved me. God took them from me…and He will pay.”
“Think, Evan. Remember. Julie left that night after you two had a terrible fight. She died running from you, trying to escape you and your oppressive righteousness. Jenny, the same. You fought constantly with her. She rebelled against everything you tried to make her do. They didn’t believe like you. They wanted to live their lives without you dictating their every move. You pushed and pushed until they resented you and would do anything to get away from you. You know I’m telling the truth,” said Marlowe.
Kline peeked over the railing. Marlowe shook his head.
Not yet.
“No, no. It’s not true.” Evan’s chin drooped, confusion in his eyes.
“It is. You know it is. You blame God for your own failures. You aren’t trying to destroy God, or your faith. You’re trying to kill your own guilt.”
Evan gritted his teeth. His body stiffened, and he leaned forward as if he would advance on Marlowe. A sudden change slid over his face—sorrow, contrition—and his posture slumped.
“I tried. I gave them everything.” His voice fell to a raspy whisper on the verge of tears. “I was head of the household. God commanded I guide my family in His ways and teach them the right path. I wanted to save their souls from Hell. A servant to God and family. I had no choice.”
Evan went stone still. His eyes glazed over; his body shuddered. Damn that flare. This would be their chance if not for the flare. One wrong move and Evan would drop the thing. Everyone in this place would burn. Marlowe needed to coax him closer, away from the puddle.
“Evan? Evan, listen to me. I understand something of what you’re going through. You know I do. You said so yourself. Let me help you.”
Nothing. The man had slipped into some place Marlowe’s entreaties could not follow. All he could do was wait, hope Evan snapped out of it…and didn’t faint where he stood.
CHAPTER
33
Smoke curled off the two figures in wispy tendrils, snaking into the air. Bodies crusted over in blackened char broken only by splotches of raw, bleeding red. The stench of rancid meat poured off them in nauseating waves, bringing bile into Evan’s mouth and tears to his eyes. He fought the impulse to run to them. A child, he needed his parents, even though they were so often cruel to him. Forgiveness lay a simple hug or kind word away.
“You burned us alive, you little brat,” said his mother.
“Now you’ll see our devil faces,” said his father.
They lumbered forward, hands twisted into claws, reaching out to tear him apart. He tried to flee, but his feet seemed anchored to the mushy ground, sucking sounds escaping with every attempted step. They drew close, heat radiating off their skin to warm his own, their stink filling his nostrils. His heart pounded against his chest, body quaking head to toe. Fingers grazed him and left behind flakes of flesh melted and slimy. Evan’s arms went to his face, guarding against the coming attack, eyes shut tight. For a long moment, he stood frozen. Nothing more happened. He lowered his arms and peeked over them. His mother and father had vanished and left a new form in their place.
Shards of glass jutted from her face and neck. Blood trickled down in a hundred fine trails, lips and nose sliced away, leaving teeth and gums exposed in glistening crimson. A branch protruded from one side of her chest and vibrated with each beat of her heart.
“I’ve missed you, darling,” said Julie.
“No, God no. Julie…I-I’m so sorry.” The tears came now, pouring down his cheeks.
“Why couldn’t you love me, for me? Why wasn’t I good enough for you?”
Evan shook his head. “You were. I wanted to save you. Save you from hell.”
“I believed, at first. You pushed and pushed, and soon I resented God as much as I did you. The thought of the Bible or God made me angry after a while. Why couldn’t you let me believe in my own way and love me anyway?”
The glass shards tinked together with the motion of her mouth. An open wound on her neck exposed the white of the windpipe beneath. It pumped up and down with labored breaths, vocal cords shuddering the tube. Evan wanted to look away from this grotesque horror, but could not.
Julie. His love.
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t think of what else to say. All his words seemed paltry things, too mundane for the task of easing her sorrow…his grief.
“You never wanted me. I was a sickly stray you took in and wanted to save. Not a wife, not a lover. You rarely touched me, and when you did, I always saw the shame on your face. If we made love, you showered right after and wouldn’t look at me. Like you felt dirty, sinful and tried to wash it away. I was your wife. I needed you to want me.”
Evan stiffened with discomfort. “I did. But…I don’t know. I wasn’t ashamed of you. My grandma taught me it was wrong. You couldn’t have children. I-it was supposed to be for children.” He reddened and hated himself for it.
“Make it up to me, darling. Show me you want me. Let me take you in my mouth and suck you dry. Fuck me, Evan. Hard. As hard as you can.” She stepped toward him, dragging one shattered leg behind her. Blood caked her cheeks, one eye protruding from its socket. “Kiss me, my love.”
Again, he could not move. That ghastly, destroyed face descended on his, her tongue pushing past his lips. The taste of blood and mucus filled his mouth. Her hands went to his groin and tugged hungrily at his dick. He shut his eyes and shoved her away with a horrified cry.
Hunched with elbows on knees, Evan panted for breath. The world stilled around him and went quiet. He knew before opening his eyes again, Jenny waited. He stood in their house in Walnut Grove where he had taken her after Julie’s death, against her violent protestations. The living room smelled of heavy perfume and cigarette smoke wafting off Jenny’s clothes. The day she left him. He remembered now—could not stop from remembering now.
A hate-filled glare and malicious words.
“You are not leaving this house dressed like that, young lady.”
“It’s a goddamn skirt down to my knees,” Jenny yelled.
Evan employed all his restraint not to slap her. “You will not use the Lord’s name in vain in this house. I can see your butt. You’re advertising for some boy to have his way with you.”
Jenny had grown into a beautiful girl of seventeen. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and over shoulders bared in a string top. Her bright blue eyes shone with contempt.
“Have his way with me? Are you from the eighteenth century? Christ, Evan, if I fuck someone it’s my choice.”
Evan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “I don’t know where you’re picking up this language…this…this vulgar dress. Your mother would never have allowed it…and neither will I. God watches over you, but you can’t test Him. It’s my job to rein you in when you are going astray.”
“Who the hell talks like you? You sound ridiculous. And Mother? Don’t you dare mention her to me. You chased her off. She couldn’t stand you or your constant Bible thumping. And God? Sorry, Evan, but I’m not sure I even believe in God. I’m seventeen. Your job’s done. I can decide things for myself.” She flung the door open.
“You get back in here this instant. You’re not going anywhere. In fact, you’re grounded until that attitude changes. We’ll meet with Brother Weaver next week and find a way through this.” Evan stepped toward her, but she bared her teeth and pointed a black-nailed finger at him.
“Grounded?” She laughed in his face. “You can’t stop me. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“If you leave this house, don’t come back.” Evan was surprised to have uttered those words. His anger and frustration pushed them out and now he couldn’t take them back.
“Come back?” She laughed at him “You really are insane. I hope your god
will keep you company, you crazy fuck.”
The doorjamb rocked with the force of wood crashing against wood. A family photo, Jenny as a laughing baby girl, Julie holding her tight with affection, fell and shattered onto the floor. Evan stood slack-jawed, tears stinging his eyes.
He tilted his head upward and Jenny stood before him. The Jenny police had found dead in a rat-infested dump with drug dealers. A hundred needles dangled from her body, plastic syringes weighing them down. Black encircled hollow eyes, her body emaciated and frail. She swayed to some discordant music—the roar of blood passing the ears, the thump thump thump of an erratic heartbeat. The song of dying.
“Jenny, oh Jenny, my baby.”
She sneered. “I’m not your baby. You stole my mother and made it so my father would never come back.”
“That’s not true, your father…”
“Shut up, Evan. I’m beyond your manipulation now.” She tossed stringy, unkempt hair from her face. “You know, it might have worked…in time. Maybe. If you could have backed off for a goddamned second and given me a little space. You told me what to wear, what I could watch, what music I could listen to. I was a kid and you robbed me of everything growing to adulthood should be. Learning, experience. I never wanted to be a slut, or get involved with drugs…and worse. I wanted you to back off. Stop smothering me and let me breathe.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. I thought I was doing what was best for you.” Evan couldn’t maintain eye contact with her. Jenny’s hatred and blame burned into his mind and soul.
“Bullshit. You were doing what was best for you. So many times I wanted to leave that place and come home. But I didn’t have a home anymore. I had nowhere to go, so I pumped this poison into my veins to dull the pain. Thanks Dad, thanks for everything.”
Jenny dissolved in a swirling pool of ochre liquid, syringes clicking to the ground. Finally released from his paralysis, Evan fell to his knees, his forearms buried in the slimy mud. He bayed at the night sky like a beaten cur. Somewhere up there, beyond the stars, his Lord stared down.
* * *
“No, no, it wasn’t me. It was God. God!” Evan pounded the heels of his palms against the side of his head.
Marlowe needed to push this…and hard. “If there is a god, he abandoned this world long ago. But it doesn’t matter, Evan. This has nothing to do with God.”
“It does. It has everything to do with God. Once I kill Him, I won’t believe anymore. It won’t hurt anymore.”
A pang of sympathy swept over Marlowe. This guy endured intense suffering, and had for a long time. But Marlowe had learned his lesson. Some people stood beyond saving, and Evan Marshall crossed the point of no return weeks back. Perhaps childhood formed the tangle of madness within him, or maybe he was simply born…defective.
“You aren’t trying to kill God. You want to destroy your own pain and guilt. You killed four innocent people who did nothing wrong. You know that. You can’t deny it, not even to yourself. You killed your wife and daughter.” Marlowe braced for the inevitable eruption. “You killed them.”
“Liar, liar!”
* * *
Evan stormed toward the lectern, reaching for the guns. Kline rose up, aimed…and froze.
James, her partner, lay dead on the ground, blood pouring from his back. A panel of stern faces sat behind a table, Lori alone, a single chair positioned opposite them—unfit for field duty. Jake Gibbs charged and barreled over her. She watched him flee, helpless.
Her finger paused on the trigger, unable to squeeze down.
* * *
Goddammit, Kline. Come on, you can do this.
Marlowe cringed at her wild-eyed fear. Her hands shook, swaying the gun. Evan yanked up a .45 and pointed it toward Marlowe’s head. He stalked forward, moving directly between Marlowe and Kline. If she snapped out of it now it wouldn’t matter, she had no shot.
Move, goddammit. Please Kline, get a shot!
He couldn’t yell out to her. Evan was still unaware of her presence. If he took his focus off Marlowe and noticed her, their only chance would disappear. The tip of the barrel sank into Marlowe’s forehead. He gritted his teeth and waited.
* * *
Paralyzed, Lori watched Marlowe’s expression transform from desperate plea to resignation. His face morphed into James’s, lifeless glazed eyes staring back at her. The perp stood in her memory, the shot she refused to take an ear-shattering silence in her mind. She envisioned what might have been. A gentle squeeze and everything changed—James lived, a criminal removed from the streets, Lori Kline a hero. A defeated life full of regret altered with one simple squeeze. Marlowe’s voice drifted into her mind.
“…when it comes to the perp going down or one of your team, it has to be the perp, every time. People are counting on you. Civilians in harm’s way, your partner depending on you to watch their back. You’ve got to let your gut, your instinct, take over. Don’t hesitate. Trust your training.”
Lori blinked rapidly and clenched her teeth. No. She refused to spend her life locked in shame. Too late for a shot, but she wouldn’t let another partner die. Resolve flooded through her. Fear vanished and instinct took over. She bounded over the choir loft’s railing and, in mid-flight, dropped her shoulder, ramming it into Marshall’s side. A satisfying oomph greeted the impact, and his gun clacked to the floor. Lori pushed onto her elbow, breath frozen in her lungs, as she watched Marshall tumble into the air and off the podium, the flare spinning out of his grasp.
* * *
Evan crashed to the sanctuary floor with a thud. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. A blurry light spun in his vision, rotating over and over…descending toward him. A whoosh rose as the flare landed lightly on his chest, the kerosene igniting across his body. He screamed. A hundred million stings of lancing fire bored into him and haloed out in a raging inferno. Evan thrashed and rolled, but the blaze spread too violently, the fuel on his clothes and body feeding its hunger. He pushed up on a pew, setting the cushion alight, and began a staggering run down the aisle. The roar of flames deafened him, nerve endings screamed, exposed to the air. Such unimaginable torment. Evan Marshall had found his hell.
The doors at the church’s entry crashed open and a human fireball lumbered into the parking lot. Evan was dimly aware of the patrol cars and the line of police taking aim, but he could not stop. The first bullet punched into his belly and rocked him forward. A second shattered his right collarbone, pushing him erect for two more to hit his left lung and side. Air exploded outward; he couldn’t breathe.
He stumbled on, oblivious to the world around him. A series of blows like mailed fists struck against his thighs, his right arm went dead and flopped limp. Evan sank to his knees, his eyes searching a world painted red and orange. The pain faded as all the nerves scorched through.
No more pain. Evan smiled.
He understood now. The source of his belief must be destroyed—a succession of cause and effect interrupted. The sponge that absorbed knowledge and fed it to belief, snuffed out, extinguished. Evan collapsed onto the asphalt, his cheek digging into the graveled surface.
No more pain. No more belief. No more…Source.
* * *
Kline cut Marlowe’s bindings. He took a moment to rub the soreness from his wrists and legs before slowly standing. Lee County officers filed into the auditorium and released the congregation members. They ushered the traumatized people from the sanctuary by the route beside the dais and outside through the rear right-hand door, avoiding the scene in the parking lot. A few fussed, complaining because they could not gain access to their vehicles for some time, but most seemed content to be alive and out of harm’s way. Marlowe and Kline proceeded to the parking lot where they found Koop and Bateman waiting.
“Gentry, I forbid you to ever pull such a hare-brained stunt ever again,” said Koop. “My old heart cannot take this kind of drama.”
Marlowe grinned and patted the doctor on the shoulder. “I’ll try not to.”
“Well, that went…okay?” said Bateman.
“Everyone’s alive except the bad guy. I call it a win.” Sheriff Banks sidled over, a fresh film of sweat on his forehead, whether due to stress or simply his normal state, Marlowe couldn’t be certain.
“All’s well that ends…well done,” said Koop with a smirk.
Indeed. Evan Marshall lay at their feet, an unrecognizable mess of smoldering flesh. Ringlets of smoke still wafted over the blackened body. No hair remained. Patches of beard were cooked into his face, his eyelids seared off, and a gaze of perpetual horror aimed at the morning sky. The expression seemed ironic when joined with the smile on his burnt lips.
As the forensic team, or in this case, the cleanup crew, moved in, Marlowe pulled Kline away from the others. “You did good back there.”
She averted her eyes to the ground and blushed. “A bit dicey, I admit. I didn’t know what to do. Or, I did, but I didn’t know if I could. If that makes any sense.”
“Complete sense. But you did, that’s what matters. And next time, you won’t hesitate. You have this experience now, and the confidence to act when you have to.” Marlowe patted her on the back.
“I saw James right where you lay. I couldn’t let it happen again. I wouldn’t have been able to live with it.” Kline looked up and didn’t shy from his gaze.
“I’m just glad you disobeyed my orders and saved my ass.” He pointed at her. “But don’t make a habit of it. Disobeying orders, I that is. Please do make a habit of saving my ass.”
She smiled. “Will do, boss. Or, I mean I won’t. Oh hell, you know what I mean.”
CHAPTER
34
Spence woke at the edge of the river, Big Rock glinting across the iridescent water. The sanctuary appeared surreal, vibrant colors splashed over the setting with a Monet panache. Scents of fragrant flowers and crisp, clean air filled his nostrils. The otherworldly scene made his head swim with overwhelming sensations.
The Dark Age: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller (Marlowe Gentry Thriller Series Book 2) Page 29